Vigilante 2
by purrpickle
Summary: It's been two weeks since Rachel was saved by the mysterious Panther. Not able to shake her interest in the oddly familiar woman, Rachel's life gets even more complicated when people from her past come back into her life. Eventual Pezberry, AU.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **I do not own Glee nor the characters within. Continuation of my Vigilante story/universe (so I highly recommend you reading that story first). With eventual Pezberry goodness, so if you don't like femslash, I'm sorry. That's just how I roll. This will also have hints of Brittberry, Brittana, as well as past Finchel and Puckleberry. I think that's every warning I can think of. If I've missed any, I'll address them later. *grins* Anyways, this is mainly an introductory chapter. Enjoy~

Note: Originally, I had named this story Vigilante: 2.0, but ffnet changed it to Vigilante: 20, and nah, that wasn't what I wanted. Because I had been agonizing over what to name this for an hour before I had posted it, and I can't make up my mind what to rename it, Vigilante 2: Untitled is what it is for now. If any of you has any ideas for a good name, don't be afraid to suggest it to me! :D

* * *

Two weeks had passed since the night Rachel met Panther. Having watched the daily news, picked up a couple of different newspapers, and searched online, Rachel had come to one conclusion: the civilians of New York City had no idea of the masked vigilante. It wasn't like the response to Spiderman or Batman, but that probably had more to do with there being no insane super powered villains running around, and she couldn't help thinking that was a good thing.

Sighing, Rachel rested her head on her hand, fingers cupping her cheek. Her eyes were starting to burn at the hours spent staring at her computer screen, and she knew she should stop soon. But the next link could be the one that confirmed there really _was _a Panther, and that someone else had met her. While Rachel didn't doubt her mental faculties or memory, she would feel better knowing she wasn't alone.

Searching the NYPD website had come up empty. While it was almost silly to think they would acknowledge someone who worked around their constraints, it hadn't hurt to check. Going up to a random police officer on the street and asking them if they knew of Panther certainly wouldn't have gone over well, and Rachel was not naïve. After receiving a call the day after the assault from the prosecutor assigned to her case to let her know that her attacker had taken a deal and was safely behind bars and there was no reason for her to be concerned anymore, she had felt uncomfortably like the whole case was swept under the rug. The reason being Panther, of course. Didn't want the chance she'd be in the public eye.

That determined dismissive attitude only made Rachel more convinced that Panther was bigger than she had originally thought. Obviously, as the dark woman had been in contact with someone through a transceiver, she wasn't working alone. Depending on the caliber of the technology used (there had been no way Rachel could have figured that out without taking Panther's mask off), that would take money, as well as suggest that an organization was working behind the scenes.

But the police had known instantly it was _Panther _who had saved her. Was that because of a signature Rachel didn't know about? Was geography the determiner? Or was Panther really the only masked individual running around? Rachel had been assuming that all of New York City was being protected, but again that was due to comic book lore. And that wasn't taking into account that maybe Panther was a crazy woman who ran around talking to herself and suffered from the delusion she was a superhero; the police could have prior experience with her that way, too.

Growling a little under her breath, Rachel lowered the internet browser and shut her computer, replacing it in her carrying case. Pulling the notebook she had set aside in front of her, she picked up her pen and started scratching out some of the questions she had written earlier. This was all pointless. Without finding Panther and asking her herself, or going to another borough and putting herself into danger and praying someone would save her, she couldn't know if a) Panther was working alone, b) Panther truly was some sort of organized vigilante, or c) Rachel was thinking too hard about all of this.

No, there was no question about that last option.

A soft beeping from her phone told her she had twenty minutes to leave for her afternoon class in time to arrive a comfortable half hour early. Sighing once more, she swept up her notebook and pens and highlighters, sliding them into her laptop case as well. There was no chance she'd come to any conclusions in the time she had, and there were always better things she could do.

Taking a look out the window to see what the weather had to offer, Rachel privately wondered if it was even worth it trying to figure out the enigma that was Panther. Biting her lip, she shook her head and turned away. If this fervor continued on for much longer, she was afraid she'd develop an unhealthy obsession, and that wouldn't do. She'd have to watch herself.

Having taken in the gathering clouds, Rachel briefly thought about how romantic New York in the snow was. Since her disastrous on-again off-again relationship with Finn had ended senior year, and the short rebound fling she'd taken up with Noah, she'd had no love life to speak of. A couple of dates here and there, all quietly enjoyable in their own way, but nothing had clicked.

It wasn't that she was avidly looking for companionship, and Rachel was quite content to be on her own, but New York in the snow really _was _quite romantic. And with the holidays (Hanukkah having ended, Christmas fast approaching), there was a sense of perpetual wistfulness hanging in the air.

She shook her head. Deciding to grab an extra-thick coat and make sure the pair of shoes she was going to wear were water-proof, Rachel made herself turn her thoughts to the day ahead. If thinking about Panther was useless, thinking about romance definitely was as well.

Five minutes later, assured that she had everything she needed, Rachel was on her way.

* * *

Five hours later, Rachel ran, literally, into Brittany S. Pierce.

Pausing just in the doorway of Virgin Records to look over a display of artist box sets on sale for the holidays and seeing no one she was interested in, Rachel took a half-turning step back, her feet a couple of seconds faster than her eyes. Before she knew what was happening, her elbow slammed against someone's arm, momentum forcing it to slide past and hit something far softer.

"Wahh!" the girl she ran into yelped, an elbow coming up in response and hitting Rachel in the side as she slapped her hands over the breast Rachel assaulted.

Stumbling back a little herself at the force of the likewise accidental hit, Rachel quickly regained her balance. Embarrassment rushed through her – what kind of entertainer was she if she didn't pay attention to the area around her body at all times? "I'm so sorry!" she started apologizing furiously, "I really should have been paying attention and – Brittany?" Rachel finally registered who the girl standing in front of her was.

"Oww," Brittany groaned with a pout on her face, rubbing her breast distractedly. "Rachel, that was mean."

"I didn't _mean _to run into you, Brittany!" Rachel protested, "Look – are, are you undamaged?"

Taking a moment to think deeply, dropping her hands from her chest (_thank_ you, Rachel thought, as it was a little disconcerting to be standing in the middle of a store with a girl who was, for all intents and purposes, groping herself), a wide smile suddenly appeared on Brittany's face, and she leaped forward to hug Rachel tightly. "You can kiss it better," she said perkily, pushing Rachel back to giggle at her, then pulling her back in with the same breath.

Suffocating with her mouth and nose pressed into the other girl's ample chest and a little dizzy from the quick maneuvering, Rachel finally managed to wrench herself away. Taking in a deep breath and straightening her clothing, she looked around to see if anyone was watching them. Once assured no one was paying more attention than normal, Rachel grabbed Brittany's arm to drag her away from the door. "If you please," she grimaced, leading the tall blonde further into the store, towards the soundtracks, "I am going to have to turn down that admittedly, erhm, stimulating offer."

"Aww," Brittany pouted again, then smiled at her, "That's okay. I was just kidding, silly."

"Oh, good." Rachel breathed a sigh of relief. With Brittany, you never knew when she was serious or not.

"Or, you know, if you really want to kiss me better, I wouldn't say no to taking off my clothes and letting you. We could even go into the bathroom and do it now, since I know you're pretty shy about nudity and stuff. Though with that body, I don't know why…"

Rachel spluttered, shaking her head back and forth quickly, "_No_, that's _okay_, Brittany. I apologize, but I have no interest in exploring homosexuality with you at this time." Or ever, she mentally corrected. "And you should have more respect for yourself. Restrooms are well known beds of bacteria, as well as generally accepted as being hygienically unclean. And – wait! What? My body?"

Where she had been staring off to Rachel's right, absently playing with a lock of her blonde hair that had come out of her ponytail, Brittany's attention wandered back to her. She smiled, her blue eyes brightening. "Your body and a bed sounds fun, too! Good thinking, Rache. C'mon," Brittany grabbed Rachel's hand and started dragging her bodily out of Virgin Records, "We can go to Santana's and mine apartment. You don't have anywhere you have to go, right?"

Rachel cursed her choice of words. Of course Brittany only concentrated on what she wanted to hear. She tried to yank her hand back, but failed. Digging her heels into the ground didn't work, either; as skinny as she was, the ex-Cheerio was very, very strong. "Britt – Brittany! No! Let me – unhand me!"

Stopping in the middle of the sidewalk abruptly, making Rachel crash into her back, Brittany turned and frowned down at her. "I don't want to take your hands off," she spoke slowly and softly, as if she was chiding a child, "That would make having fun times not very fun."

"I…" Seeing her chance to distract Brittany from her absurd plan of kidnapping and molesting her, Rachel pointed wildly down the street. "Look, a frozen yogurt place. I wouldn't be adverse to enjoying some healthy food at this time."

"Oh?" Brittany perked up, "Think they have banana flavored?"

"We won't know unless we go in."

"Then what are you waiting for? Let's go!" Tightening her grip on Rachel's hand, the blonde excitedly pulled her to their new destination.

* * *

"So," Rachel swallowed the spoonful of berry frozen yogurt (soy yogurt, to be exact, which she'd been gratified to find the establishment offered) she'd grudgingly allowed Brittany to talk her into – "Rachel, you _have _to! It's like, your name. See? It's totally faith!" – "I'm surprised to find you in New York. Though I suppose I shouldn't be, seeing as I was remiss in inquiring about your plans after graduation. You could have been anywhere."

"But I'm right here. With you." Looking at Rachel with a slightly confused expression, Brittany tilted her head and looked up in thought, her voice lowering into a whisper, "…Aren't I?"

Watching Brittany pinch her hand, squeaking at the light pain, Rachel put her spoon into her yogurt cup and then set it down onto the table. Stretching a little to take Brittany's hand, she squeezed it quickly and let go. "Yes. You're here. With me."

"Oh, good." Sighing in relief, Brittany smiled gratefully at Rachel. "I thought I was somewhere once, but it turned out I wasn't." She paused briefly, then looked up at Rachel, "Do you think the Statue of Liberty ever gets lonely?"

Rachel blinked, stuffing her spoon into her mouth so she didn't have to answer.

"I saw this picture once, where the Statue of Liberty and Lady Justice were kissing. But isn't Liberty, like, gigantic? And Justice fits on desks?"

"I can see that being a tall hurdle to get over." Rachel winced at her bad pun. But thankfully, Brittany didn't seem to catch it.

"Oh, maybe they got their hands on some of that Drink Me potion."

Rachel nodded, "From Alice's Adventures in Wonderland?"

Brittany smiled at her, "Exactly! That's what I love about you, Rachel. You understand what I'm talking about."

Blushing a little, Rachel shook her head. "In your defense, Brittany, that wasn't quite an obscure reference as other things I have heard you say."

Brittany grinned at her, and Rachel found herself smiling back. Away from the stress of high school and glee club, the tall blonde was quite nice.

When Brittany got distracted by a text message, Rachel waited for her to finish replying and decided to try again; it had to defy all the laws of possibility that she ran into an old classmate so far away from where they had both lived, "As I was saying, I'm surprised to see you here, uhm, in New York. No matter the two of us running into each other."

"I know, right?" Slipping her phone away and picking up her own yogurt cup and taking a big bite of her banana and green tea mix, Brittany smiled at Rachel broadly, "It's like we haven't left high school. It's totally awesome."

Rachel blanched at the thought, weakly nodding along. She was very glad to be done with that particular stepping stone on her way to stardom. "Anyway," she said quickly, hoping to stop any trip down memory lane the blonde might be tempted to begin, "You say you're living with Santana?" That didn't surprise her.

"Yeah, and it's great! …Except when she gets mad at me for leaving the refrigerator door open or overfilling the bathtub. But I know that's just 'cuz she's tired and exhausted most of the time."

"Oh? What does she do?"

Brittany looked down, eyebrows drawing together. "I'm not sure I'm supposed to tell you…" she trailed off. A series of expressions passed over her face, and she sucked her lower lip into her mouth, chewing on it gently. Apparently coming to some kind of decision, she suddenly brightened, sitting up straight, "I can't tell you… But maybe Santana will!"

Rachel regarded her curiously. What could Santana be doing that she wouldn't want other people to know? Torrid answers started to enter her mind, and she blushed, shaking them away. How movie-of-the-week.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **Well, here's a small-ish update. I've had a bit of trouble with this story, but I finally wrestled it to somewhere where I think I got back on track. Possibly.

* * *

She and Brittany ended up talking for more than hour, and Rachel surprised herself by enjoying every minute of it. Lately, most of her time had been spent going to school, honing her voice, connecting with local agents, and researching Panther. Being so busy and single minded hadn't left time for anything but the barest amount of social activity. Brittany's company was very welcome (and if the blonde had gotten her way, Santana would have shown up at some point, but unfortunately she'd been too busy to make an appearance).

Discussing the winter break that was coming up soon, and having discovered that Rachel planned on flying back to Lima to visit her fathers as both Santana and Brittany planned to visit their families, Brittany had quickly gotten Rachel to agree meeting up not only in Lima, but in New York before and after the vacation as well. Not for the first time during their conversation did Rachel wonder if she, now, was the only person other than Santana Brittany had to talk to. That seemed a pity. Brittany, after you got used to her unique way of thinking, was a delightful person.

"It's too bad Santana couldn't make it," Brittany pouted as she and Rachel started getting ready to depart, gathering up their empty cups and used napkins, "I think she would have liked to see you."

"Really?" Rachel had to ask; while their relationship had tempered somewhat by the end of high school, there had always been an energy between her and Santana that made it almost impossible to be completely civil. If Rachel let herself admit it, she regretted not getting to know the fiery Cheerio better. Of course, that was mostly due to the callous treatment she'd gotten at Santana's hands practically from puberty.

Brittany looked up at her, tilting her head, smiling brightly, "Of course! Santana always said you made up glee club. She respects you, you know."

Rachel paused. Santana respected her? Tolerated her, maybe, but _respect_? Surprise making her voice higher than normal, she turned back to Brittany after throwing away her trash, shouldering her bag uncertainly, "You… You mean 'I'm what _made _glee club'?" Concentrating on that statement first would be the best course of action, she decided.

But Brittany didn't answer her, pushing open the door to the shop, leading them outside; cold air instantly stung their faces, each girl adjusting the collars of their coats to better cover their necks. "Honestly," the tall blonde chattered on, ignorant of the intense thoughtful look on Rachel's face, "I'm not sure either me or Santana would have stayed in if you hadn't been there. It was your talent Coach hated the most – well, after Mr. Schue, of course." Giggling, Brittany swung around and grabbed Rachel's hand, tugging her forward, "Come on, keep up."

Lengthening her strides to keep up with her, hand loosely returning Brittany's grip, Rachel shook her head. "That can't be right," she protested, "Glee was a group effort. While I admittedly had more going for me, due to intensive training since I could talk, I'm sure that when it came down to it, your coach was aware of how important everyone was."

"Oh, Rachel, stop worrying about it!"

Rachel frowned. "I'm not _worrying_. I'm merely reacting to what you have stated."

Brittany smiled knowingly at her, "Yeah, worrying."

Opening her mouth to refute, once again, Brittany's assumption, Rachel was interrupted when the alarm on her phone went off. Seeing the time, she was mortified to realize how wrapped up she had been to forget about the evening study group she had scheduled. Taking quick note of where she was and calculating how long it would take to get to her friend's apartment, she knew with a surprising sense of reluctance that she had to take her leave.

Seeing her expression, Brittany's shoulders drooped, "You have to go, don't you?"

Moving her shoulders up and down, Rachel slid her phone back into her pocket and nodded, "I'm sorry, Britt."

Brittany shook her head, "That's okay, I guess. But now Santana's _really _going to get mad that she didn't get to see you."

"…What?"

"Oh, I was going to take you to her – surprise her, you know? But now you have to go, so it won't work. Darn!"

The blonde almost stomped her foot on the ground, and Rachel's mouth quirked up in a grin, "Well, since you say it was going to be a surprise, just don't tell her you were planning on doing it, and she won't know."

Brittany thought for a second, then smiled, nodding, "Yeah! You're totally right, Rache!" Quickly changing tracks, she held out her hand, "Gimme your phone."

It didn't take Brittany very long to input her number in Rachel's phone, getting Rachel's in return. And, with a promise that they'd hang out later that week and a very tight hug that made the tips of Rachel's shoes barely touch the sidewalk, the two girls went their separate ways: Brittany on foot while Rachel ducked down into the nearest subway station.

During her ride, Rachel stared at her phone, trying to decide if she wanted to text Brittany for Santana's number. True, it was Brittany who had exhibited willingness for hanging out with Rachel, and even if she said that Santana would be interested as well, Rachel didn't know just how truthful that was. And even if Brittany and Santana were a 'package deal', that didn't mean Rachel should automatically include Santana in everything Brittany related.

It also seemed a little strange to ask for someone's number when you hadn't met them in person. Would it make her seem stalker-ish? Nosy? Yes, it wasn't like Rachel would ever have the need to randomly contact Santana out of the blue (at least, she didn't _think _she would), and certainly not without face-to-face contact. Their relationship had never been one of easy interaction, so why give Santana reason to possibly find fault with her?

A little discouraged at the path her thoughts had taken, Rachel sighed and replaced the phone in her hand with her iPod. Even if Santana most likely wouldn't get riled up by Rachel having her number (or wouldn't even _know _she had it), it was easier to make it a moot worry.

* * *

That night, Panther found her again.

Juggling two bags of both healthy and unhealthy snacks she had picked up for her study group (as it had been her turn in the rotation for who left for mid-session munchies), Rachel cursed herself for underestimating just how far her search for non-greasy food would take her. The helpful app on her phone hadn't been quite as accurate as normal, and it was only her stubborn refusal to spend more money than she should have to that had her lugging everything by foot.

Coming to the end of the street, she looked up at the street sign, and groaned. Realizing for the first time just how far away she was, Rachel thought about calling one of her study buddies to come pick her up; she quickly remembered, however, that none of them owned a car. Calling a cab would defeat the purpose of saving money, and it would be quite impractical to find the nearest subway. She resigned herself to walking.

She hadn't gotten very far when the sound of several pounding feet coming up behind her sent her spinning around. Three men ran by, giving her a wide berth, almost shoving each other in their haste to avoid her. Rachel would have been confused if a familiar voice hadn't spoken up from behind her, "Well, at least _some_ people know how to show me respect."

Not able to help it, the adrenaline still spiking through her body, Rachel screamed, chucking the bag in her right hand straight into Panther's chest.

Entirely nonplussed, Panther caught it, a thoroughly amused smirk on her lips. "Really, Broadway Girl," she lowered the plastic bag, letting it hang from her fingers by the handle, "Don't you think it's time you stop attacking me on first sight?"

Rachel's jaw dropped. Her hand tightening around the bag she had left in her possession, she squared her shoulders and snapped back, "_Excuse _me? You're the one who _insists _on sneaking up on me like… Like a common _felon_. I should say it's hardly my fault that my first reaction is to defend myself."

Panther stared down at her, then smiled. Brown eyes twinkling behind her mask, she teased, "You're quite the firecracker, aren't you?"

F… _Firecracker_? Rachel stumbled mentally over that one.

But Panther had continued talking, smoothly taking a spot at Rachel's side, "Regardless, you have quite the habit of walking these streets alone at night. Whatever shall I do with you?"

"You don't need to do anything," Rachel offered smartly, letting bravado replace the adrenaline leaving her body with the slowing down of her heart.

"You sure?" Panther cocked her head, her tone light and airy.

Rachel nodded. "I am. Now," she grabbed for her bag, but Panther swung it around. Sighing, Rachel closed her eyes and shook her head, "Okay, never mind." She reined in her annoyance; despite the weirdness of the situation, she found herself oddly… _touched _by the vigilante's attention. She chose to ignore the cautious voice in her head that started spouting out statistics of stalking – for now, she'd take Panther at face value.

"Hey. Broadway Girl."

Realizing that she'd zoned out for a second, Rachel blinked furiously and focused on the amused smirk directed at her. She wondered what the probability of running into Panther again in a city of millions really was.

Slight pressure on her arm brought her back again. Disconcerted at how easily distracted she was getting, Rachel flushed and watched Panther retract her hand. Obviously quirking her eyebrows at her, the dark woman gestured off into the distance, "Shall we?"

Rachel couldn't say no. After all, the woman she had been furiously searching for was finally in front of her. It was only her pride that was keeping her back. "…Fine," she relented, stepping forward, hearing the other woman fall in step, "I suppose I cannot decline."

A triumphant smile bloomed on Panther's face, "No, you really 'cannot'."

The duo walked in silence for a couple of minutes, Rachel's gaze moving back and forth from her companion and their surroundings. While she was getting some naughty pleasure from having her own bodyguard, she couldn't deny that it was a little preposterous, too. "This makes no sense," she finally muttered, shaking her head.

Panther's smile widened.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **I swear my writing style changes every time I open Word. Anyways, here's the beginning of what a lot of you have been waiting for. *smiles*

* * *

Santana was acting oddly, Rachel thought, studying her ex-classmate over the straw of her drink. It was some kind of mixed alcohol, but truthfully she hadn't really been paying attention when Santana had shoved it into her hands, declining her request for something non-alcoholic. It was a little strong, but tasty, and Rachel knew if she sipped it slowly, she shouldn't experience anything more than a pleasant buzz.

But anyway, Santana was acting oddly. Though Rachel had never been able to pin the other girl down well enough to predict what she was going to do (aside from when Breadstix was even _hinted _about in her presence), Santana seemed to be almost on the edge of her seat. She tried to hide it, keeping in place the cool exterior Rachel had come to know well throughout high school and junior high, but some sort of energy seemed to be… Roiling around under her skin. Rachel very much hoped that wasn't a symptom of withdrawal of some kind; though honestly she couldn't imagine the proud girl ever succumbing to an addiction.

"Well," she cleared her throat, deciding that the silence left by Brittany leaving to take a shower had gone on long enough, and smiled hesitantly at her host, "When Brittany mentioned that you two shared an apartment, I hadn't expected something so…"

"Big?" Santana arched an eyebrow. She sat back into the plush cushion of a couch Brittany _had _to have picked out (Rachel highly doubted Santana liked red and green plaid), crossing her legs neatly, looking around the spacious living room. "Yeah, well, my dad's a doctor, and this was his graduation present."

"Ahh. That must have been… Nice?" Rachel asked.

"Sure."

Silence stretched again. Taking a big sip of her drink to occupy herself, Rachel found herself studying a rather impressive black and white photograph of New York that hung on the wall. It was taken from somewhere high, but Rachel couldn't see anything that would give her a hint as to the exact location. "That's really nice," she gestured at the photograph, turning back to Santana, "Do you know where it was taken?"

Santana brushed hair away from her face as she turned to look. "Oh, that." Taking a sip of her drink, she shrugged, "I knew it once, but I've forgotten."

For some reason Rachel got the feeling that wasn't the complete truth, but what would be accomplished if she pressed for more information?

"So. Rachel." Santana set down her own glass on the coffee table, ice clinking. She looked at Rachel directly for the first time since she had arrived, and for a second her piercing brown eyes made a hot flash flow through Rachel's body (though she couldn't fathom _why_). Leaning forward, Santana smiled, and Rachel had to blink because she could barely believe it was aimed at _her_, "How has New York been treating you?"

"Ohh, oh, well! I would say that, yes. I've settled into my classes at Julliard, and I am confident I have started making waves in the Broadway community. I fully expect to be cast in some sort of role within the next two years, which, as you know, would only jumpstart the career I was born to have."

As she wound down, smiling proudly, she was aware of the amused smirk stretching across Santana's face. Feeling a little put-off, she raised her eyebrows at the other girl, not _exactly _sounding condescending, "And what about you, Santana?"

Santana shrugged, picking up her glass again. "I can't complain. Life around here isn't boring." A smile flirted with the corners of her mouth, "I'm kept busy enough."

"What is it you do?" Ever since Brittany had alluded to whatever it was that Santana did, she'd been trying to figure it out, but had been in vain.

Santana pursed her lips, studying Rachel deeply, making her shift a little under the intense gaze. Suddenly, she fluidly stood up, walking over to offer Rachel her hand. "C'mon, I'll show you."

"Wha – I mean, yes?" Accepting Santana's help, another spark of _something _buzzed in the back of her mind as long fingers wrapped around hers, the skin of the other girl's hand surprisingly calloused. But, as soon as she was standing, Santana let her go, and the feeling disappeared.

"That chair's always been a bitch to get out of," Santana explained, turning away and leading Rachel towards the hallway that started at the back of the room, "But you can blame Britts for that. She likes sinking down into things – says it's like marshmallow heaven."

Rachel smiled, cradling her glass close to her chest; Santana hadn't put hers down, either, so she assumed it was alright to take the drink wherever it was they were going, "That _does _sound like Brittany." Remembering the couch Santana had been sitting in, she asked, "Did you let her pick out all the furniture?"

Santana glanced back at her. "The couch, right?" At Rachel's nod, she rolled her eyes, smiling affectionately, "Yeah, pretty much. I'm not here that often, so I figured she'd get the most out of it. Though, my bedroom and where I'm going to show you, I didn't let her decorate."

_My bedroom_. Rachel frowned mentally. "You don't share a bedroom?" she asked before she could stop herself, hastily adding, "I mean, everyone knew you were dating by the end of high school, so I just assumed…"

Santana stopped in front of a nondescript door at the end of the hallway. She narrowed her eyes at Rachel. "Is that really any of your business, Berry?"

Rachel's eyes widened, and she had to stop herself from taking a step back. "I'm – I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…" She trailed off when Santana suddenly started laughing, expression relaxing completely.

"Oh, god, Rachel! Seriously? Just one glare and you're stumbling all over yourself to apologize? Jeez, get some confidence." Santana smirked at her, eyes dancing.

Rachel's mouth dropped open. Though the words coming out of Santana's mouth weren't very nice, something in the other girl's voice and body language made it hard for her to feel insulted. It was almost as if, away from McKinley High, Santana Lopez had turned into a different person. It was confounding, and honestly, a little worrying.

Santana chuckled once more then opened the door. Taking a second to flip on the light, she walked forward and gestured for Rachel to follow. "Well," she smiled, watching as Rachel started looking around, "Whadd'ya think?"

"You…" Rachel blinked, "You have your very own gym?"

And indeed Santana did. Easily the size of two normal rooms, a wall of mirrors made up the back wall, numerous exercise machines filling the room. A rack of free weights and various exercise balls and mats were neatly tucked away in the corner of a free space, a refrigerator and locked cabinet finishing off the arrangement. The walls were a soothing yellow, the floor a flat blue carpet, and Rachel could see what looked like a professional speaker system wired around the room.

"Mmhm," Santana hummed proudly, surveying the room critically. "You see that door?" she pointed out a door that Rachel _hadn_'_t _actually noticed near the refrigerator, "That leads to the shower and sauna."

Rachel stared at Santana. "You have a _sauna_?" she breathed, "Next you're going to tell me you have a swimming pool."

Santana grinned. "I will not answer that on the ground that you'll prolly explode." Chuckling at Rachel's expression, she shook her head and ushered Rachel out of the room, "Okay, no, the pool's on the roof. The whole building can use it."

"I… See." Shaking her head, Rachel gulped her drink. She followed behind Santana again. "So you're…?"

Instead of stopping at the living room as they had done before, Santana led her into the kitchen. Pausing at the counter and looking down at her body, Santana quirked her eyebrow at Rachel, her expression obnoxiously sultry, "What? Like you can't guess? With _this _body?"

Rachel bit her lip, blushing as she took in Santana's fit and trim body, clothed in a tight shirt and jeans. The girl had always been in shape due to cheerleading and glee, but it was true that she seemed a lot more… _Powerful_. But Santana wore it well, still as feminine and devastatingly attractive as ever; just _more_.

Santana stalked over and took Rachel's empty (when did that happen?) glass from her, dark eyes laughing at her. "If you continue staring at me, I might have to start charging a viewing fee," she teased, setting both of their glasses down and grabbing a third. "Who knew Berry was into girls, huh?"

"Well, you called me male enough times," Rachel snapped back, crossing her arms as she glared at Santana, trying to gain back the pride Santana was all too good at stripping from her.

It wasn't until white teeth was put on total display that Rachel realized what she had just said. "I, that's not, I didn't _mean_…" She sucked in a deep breath, not appreciating Santana's laughter at _all_, "What _is _it with you and Brittany? I cannot have a simple conversation with either of you without delving into discussion about lesbianism and my sexuality! If I didn't know better, it was on purpose." She eyed Santana accusingly.

The other girl just smirked impishly and went back to mixing the drinks. "Think whatever you want to think," she drawled, eyes flashing up to catch Rachel's gaze momentarily, "But for the record, you make it _way _too easy. Somethin' you want to tell us, Berry?"

Before Rachel could answer, Brittany bounced into the room, dressed in a simple tank top and shorts, hair still wet and curling from her shower. Walking over and kissing Santana's cheek in greeting, she accepted the glass Santana handed her and jumped up onto the counter across from Rachel, long legs kicking back and forth. Taking in the remnants of Rachel's blush and Santana's wicked grin, she asked perkily, "What're you guys talking about?"

Rachel hmmphed, deciding it wasn't worth it to answer. Grudgingly taking the glass Santana walked over to give her, she could acutely feel when Santana leaned back against the counter next to her, too close to be casual. "Nothing important, Britt," she smiled, throwing a pointed glare at the girl next to her.

But Santana smiled lazily, ignoring her. "Rachel's fascination with lesbians, right, Berry?" she elbowed Rachel's side, making her squeak and stumble a little, almost spitting out the drink she had just taken.

"That's not – !"

"Ohh?" Brittany interrupted, hopping down and skipping forward to wrap her arms around Rachel, beaming happily, "You mean you agreed to the threesome?"

Rachel's mouth dropped open again.

Santana's rich laughter filled up the room.


	4. Chapter 4

Once Rachel had finally gotten through to Brittany that a threesome hadn't been what she and Santana had been talking about, as well as reiterating her statement that she wasn't interested in exploring homosexuality with the blonde at that time (at which point Santana's eyebrows had shot up to the top of her forehead only to quickly flow down again so the girl could give her an inscrutable look), Brittany, though pouting, grabbed Rachel's hand to lead her back into the living room. Plopping down onto the couch and cushion next to where Rachel had been sitting earlier, she motioned for Rachel to join her. "So!" she smiled eagerly, "San tell you what she does, yet?"

Sinking down onto the very plush seat again, Rachel shook her head. "While she alluded to her occupation earlier, I'm afraid I got distracted."

"By my body," Santana smirked, the ice in her glass clinking as she brought it up to her mouth.

Deadly serious, Brittany looked up and down Santana's body as she lounged in her seat. "San's body is very distracting," she agreed.

"She's certainly in shape…" Rachel smiled faintly, not quite sure how she was supposed to respond to that. To be honest, Rachel could understand why Brittany found it distracting, even if not for the same reasons. She turned to Santana. "Are you some kind of personal trainer?"

Santana shrugged. "Pretty much. I also do some odd jobs around the city."

"Yeah, she's always busy." Nodding, Brittany affected a long-suffering sigh, "I barely see her since she's most busy at night." She looked down at her drink. "At least she'll let me draw her baths or massage her when she comes home all sore and dirty if I'm still up."

Rachel tried not to show any change of emotion on her face. Still, her eyes flicked to Santana. "This happens often?" she asked innocently.

Santana's tongue worked in her mouth, and she made a face at Brittany before turning to Rachel. "Get your mind out of the gutter, Berry." Taking a sip of her drink, she raised an eyebrow, "You think only stripping and working a pole gets you hot and sweaty?"

"I…" Spluttering, Rachel eventually slipped into a frown that she used on Santana, "That was years ago, Santana. Besides, you have already informed me you are a personal trainer. I have no reason to not believe you."

It might have been her imagination, but it looked like something flickered in Santana's eyes, but when Rachel blinked, it was gone if it indeed had been there in the first place. "Right," Santana smiled, inclining her head and raising her glass, "Interested in anything in particular for dinner?"

* * *

"You sure it's okay for me to spend the night?" Rachel repeated, peering up at Santana through her bangs. Clutching her jacket to her chest, she looked back at the door to the apartment as Brittany closed it, a little embarrassed that she'd immediately assumed she was going to be kicked out once dinner and more drinks had been finished.

"Of course, Rachel," Brittany smiled, coming up behind her to gently take her jacket from her to hang it back up onto the coat rack.

Santana nodded, "Yeah, B wouldn't forgive me if anything happened to you. Especially while tipsy." Santana tilted her head, dark eyes studying Rachel closely, "And something tells me it's quite easy for you to get into trouble."

Flushing, and a little confused why the other girl's words had made a small alarm go off in her brain, Rachel humphed. "I'm highly capable of taking care of myself," she protested, squeaking when long arms suddenly wrapped around her shoulders.

"You are so cute," Brittany giggled. Squeezing her tightly, she straightened and let her go, "C'mon, let's go get Santana's bed ready. You can pick out what sheets you want!"

Santana's bed? "What?" Rachel turned big eyes onto Santana, who just smirked at her. "Your bed? No, no, that's okay. I can use your couch. I'm sure it's quite comfortable."

Santana shrugged. "It is."

"So? I don't want to take your bed from you. I'll take the couch."

"Nonsense." Motioning for Rachel to follow her with a flippant wave of her hand, Brittany smiled brightly, "She's not going to be using it, anyway. Oh." She stopped, "Unless you _want _company and wouldn't mind cuddling with me instead. Like a sleepover!"

Santana wasn't going to be using her bed? "You have work tonight…?" Rachel asked slowly. How many clients worked out at night? That still didn't exactly make sense to her. Well, unless they worked during the day or held night jobs, she chided herself, attaching a belated smile to her face.

Santana shrugged. "Yup. The city never sleeps." Her lips curling up at the end of her sentence, she glanced at the clock. "Ah, it's that time already. Okay." She turned back to Rachel and Brittany, suddenly seeming even _more_ than before, like energy coiling through her body just under the surface suddenly intensified; to be honest, it concerned Rachel. That wasn't normal. Maybe her theory about drug addiction wasn't too far off… Rachel worried her lower lip, forcing her smile back to her face when Santana's dark eyes moved to hers as Santana continued, "I have to take off."

Pouting, Brittany nodded. "Okay. Be careful."

A fine eyebrow raised, and Santana rotated smoothly on the ball of her foot. "I always am," she replied loftily, throwing a hand up in response when Rachel quickly added her own good bye, and quickly disappeared down the hall towards her gym.

Brittany sighed. "I always worry anyway…" she let out distractedly, rubbing her arm with her hand.

Why did there seem to be something so much bigger going on?

Still worrying over that, Rachel silently followed Brittany towards the linen closet, barely reacting when the blonde dropped a set of black sheets into her arms. Black… Something about that color seemed perfectly tailored towards Santana.

Something she couldn't help falling asleep thinking about.

* * *

A loud banging noise woke her up in the early morning hours. Heart pounding at the unknown noise, as well as the unsettling sensation of waking up in a room that wasn't her own, she tensed, unwilling to move even so much as to pull the covers tighter around her body. Another bang, followed by a low groan made her open her eyes. Her ears strained. Was there anywhere in the room she could hide? A weapon she could use if she needed one? Oh no, her rape whistle and can of mace were in her coat, hung up at the front of the apartment.

Another loud noise, followed by the switching on of the hallway light and heavy footsteps clomping closer made Rachel's breath catch. Should she jump off the bed? Or would that make too much noise and alert the intruder? This… This couldn't be _happening_.

The footsteps stopped, and Rachel jerked in terror when pounding came from where her terrified mind slowly realized was the door to Brittany's bedroom. "B!" a husky voice rasped, "B, c'mon. I need your help. _Shit_. _B_."

That wasn't an intruder! Forcing herself to jump out of bed onto legs made of jelly, Rachel teetered but managed to make it to the door of Santana's bedroom.

"Shit, don't tell me you took _Ambien_ tonight, _dammit_."

Creaking the door open, Rachel's mouth dropped open, her hands flying to her mouth when she caught sight of Santana. "Oh my goodness," she exclaimed, "Are you _alright_?"

Dressed in almost the same clothes she'd been wearing earlier that day, the only difference now was the giant purpling bruise on Santana's cheek painted red with blood dripping from above her eyebrow, the pained expression on her face accented by a hand pressed to her side, a thin line of blood trickling from the corner of her mouth.

Letting air out of her nose, Santana gave her a dirty look, "Do I _look _alright? C'mon." Grunting and wincing when she turned to take a step towards Rachel, she headed for what Rachel quickly realized was the bathroom, "If you're the one awake, I'd appreciate your help before my ribs shift even more."

Anxiety and worry and fear making Rachel feel sluggish, she finally nodded. Reaching out a hand in automatic reaction when Santana limped past her, she recoiled when the full power of Santana's glare hit her. She swallowed. "Did… Did you get mugged?" she asked, needing _some_ kind of stimulus to tell her this was real.

Santana paused. Turning to Rachel, she made a quick negative motion with her head. "Don't be ridiculous. Boxing just got a little out of hand."

Boxing? That… No. That didn't really make sense. Rachel frowned at Santana's back. "I don't think it's a ridiculous question, Santana."

Santana shrugged, pushing the bathroom door open. Taking a seat on the toilet lid, hissing in pain, she took a deep breath. "First aid under the sink. I'll tell you what to do." When Rachel lingered in the doorway, she snapped impatiently, "_Rachel_. Before I _die_?"

It was the Rachel that did it. Still, feeling insulted despite what was going on, Rachel dropped to the floor to open the cupboard under the sink. "You sure this isn't a stupid Fight Club thing?" she asked, frowning at the size of the first aid kit she found. Did Santana get hurt _often_?

A low chuckle made her look up. "If it was, could I talk about it?" Santana managed to look amused even with one eye swelling shut. "God, don't look so scandalized. I don't just teach working out, Berry. And besides." Her face scrunched as she tried to lean back, clearing her throat, "My normal doctor was called away."

"So I assume I wasn't supposed to see this." Sighing, Rachel finished pulling everything she could find that looked like it had some medicinal value. What was it Santana _did_?

"Got it."

"Great." For some reason, it was easier to concentrate on not freaking out if she concentrated on what was wrong with the picture, not what was wrong with Santana herself. Raising her head to look at Santana again, she asked, "You sure you shouldn't go to the hospital? I'm not a certified doctor or medical employee of any kind, and… I've only taken _one_ citizen level first aid class. And is this even _legal_? I don't want to hurt you _more_."

"_Berry_." Sounding more tired than annoyed, Santana made an exasperated face. "If you hurt me, I'll blame myself. _Okay_? Now… Can we _please_ get on with this?"

Rachel chewed on her bottom lip, fingers tightening on the plastic of the first aid kit. She was still freaking out inside.

…But there was no question she wouldn't help if she could. "…Fine. Your ribs first?"

Santana managed a smirk. "No, I lied about that to get you to hurry up. I _do _have a bruise, but my ribs are fine."

Rachel stared at her, then dropped her gaze to find and scoop up a cotton ball and the peroxide. Soaking the cotton ball, she put the peroxide down, pushed herself up to her knees and shuffled forward to put herself between Santana's legs. Ignoring what that position could look like and the _awareness_ of what that looked like, Rachel swallowed and beckoned Santana to lower her head as far down as she could. Propping an elbow on the toilet lid between Santana's legs and ignoring that as well, she reached up and started dabbing at the congealed blood above Santana's eyebrow, wanting to get a good look at what the cut actually looked like. Gritting her teeth at fighting gravity, she murmured, "This'll probably hurt."

"_Ow_!" Jerking her head back, Santana glared at Rachel. "There's no _probably_," she hissed, a hint of a whine in her voice, "Do better."

Rachel gave her an unamused look. "You said you'd blame yourself." She motioned for Santana to bring her head back forward.

Slowly doing so, Santana had to put a hand on Rachel's shoulder, grip tightening as she tensed her arm to keep her waist as immobile as she could make it. Even with the ache she was undoubtedly feeling, a hint of a smile graced her mouth, her tongue darting out to lick some of the blood that had come from her upper lip, "I lied."

"Of course you did." Her eyebrows knitting together, Rachel held her breath as she went back to slowly brushing the cotton ball over the blood, feeling guilty as she could feel the twitches Santana was trying to hold back.

If anyone had ever told her that one day she'd be kneeling in a bathroom and administering first aid to Santana Lopez, Rachel mused, twisting around to grab a new cotton ball and the peroxide, she would have asked them kindly to check themselves into overnight supervision voluntarily.

But, she glanced back at Santana, heartbeat finally starting to slow down with the lessoning of blood on her face, that's what she would have thought if anyone had told her she'd be meeting a costumed vigilante. "So," she whispered to herself, "I guess I should stop expecting things to _not_ happen."

For some reason, that made Santana's almost-smile real.


End file.
